


Gathering Wool

by Kangarooney



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Absent-minded, Connor has no sense, Connor is hardly a character either, Connor is high class, Flashbacks, Hank goes on too many tangents, Hank has a gutter rat vibe, Hank has no brain, Hank has no filter, Hank uses memes, Markus - Freeform, Markus is confused, Memes, This is crack, except fluffier, like crack cocaine, like hes, no beta we die like men, only is present for 4 lines, wool-gathering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 11:10:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20638196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangarooney/pseuds/Kangarooney
Summary: "Now, if you asked Hank, it was fucking great that the androids had gotten their freedom and been acknowledged as living, thinking beings. Kudos to them for suffering under human oppression and still rising above it. Yeah, it was dank as fuck they’d gotten their freedom."Hint: No one ever asked Hank.





	Gathering Wool

**Author's Note:**

> How I chose my title:
> 
> Me: Oh shoot I need to name this fic.  
Me: I don't want to give away what happens.  
Me: What happens in this fic?  
Me: Hank is very distracted  
Me: *goes to Thesaurus.com* *types in distracted* *clicks on random words until 'wool-gathering' appears*  
Me: I like.

Hank stared at his reflection. This whole bullshit better be worth the ceremony.

Connor had stopped by the house three days ago declaring Hank his “human-invite” to some Android Freedom Party and that Hank needed to “clean up and ditch the gutter rat vibe”; Connor’s words, he _swears_.

Now, if you asked Hank, it was fucking great that the androids had gotten their freedom and been acknowledged as living, thinking beings. Kudos to them for suffering under human oppression and still rising above it. Yeah, it was dank as fuck they’d gotten their freedom.

But for Christ’s sake, they needed to choose _one_ day out of the _damned_ year to celebrate their freedom, not every single motherfucking weekend for the past _six_ years! Take America - for _chrissake _– the best motherfucking country in the god-forsaken world; everyone knows it. Besides periodically screaming their superiority from a car window on a drunken college night out after the Detroit Gears kicked the 76er’s to the curb and sent them packing to cry into their mother’s skirts, the country celebrates its birthday on the best fucking day of the year: July 4th.

Ah. Hank sighed. July 4th, now that was a day he could get behind. You could yell at anyone you wanted as long as “’Murica” was involved in some way, fucking fantastic. If a place as great as the States could squeeze all its self-love into one day, so could Connor’s species.

A thump outside the bathroom door startled him from his reverie. Ah shit. “Sumo what the fuck did you do?” He called out, half-heartedly. The great lug probably kicked his food bowl into the wall again. There was no response from the dog – crazy old man he was, Hank expected one.

Fuck.

The point – the _point_ he was trying to make, was that this fucking party better be fucking worth it.

* * *

Connor answered the door halfway through the first ring with his weird-as-fuck-not-quite-but-goddammit-if-Hank-would-tell-him-he-looked-like-a-serial-killer smile. Which quickly fell into confusion and his mood ring rolling yellow-red-yellow.

“Fuck Connor I got the wrong day – didn’t I?” Hank asked, shouldering his way past the immobile android. “God, whatever just give me a drink – shit a jack and coke will do.” When the sound of a door closing didn’t register, Hank turned to stare behind him. Connor was still standing in the doorway staring outside with his hand – or servo, shit Hank almost failed android-sensitivity training – on the doorknob. “Connor?”

Connor slowly closed the door and pivoted in place – shit Hank forgot how creepy that was. Somehow, he always forgets the creepy shit Connor can do when the android is cooing over Sumo or excitedly info-dumping on fish.

Which, by the way, when Hank says info-dumping, Hank means literally_ printing_ the Encyclopedia Britannica out his left shoulder, because _apparently_ Connor comes equipped with his own goddamn printer–

_“It’s for printing search warrants, Hank” _

– in addition to every other random feature the Cyberlife engineers decided to put into him.

It’s like, when smart phones started getting tiny again after the Samsung vs. Apple Realization of 2024 that people couldn’t carry laptop-sized phones around in their pockets comfortably. Forget carrying televisions around with you everywhere, VR exploded, and phones got small again and the next big thing was how many features could your phone have without increasing the size – that was Connor. He was a product of the cram-this-shit-and-that-shit-and-that-shit-into-this-shit engineering process.

Speaking of, Hank could feel the prickle of a scan coming from Connor’s palm. Damned nurse-bot. “Knock it off Connor!” He half-heartedly yelled.

“I apologize.” Connor started, stopped. He stared at Hank some more. His palm remained at its distance 16 inches away from Hank’s body. Another scan initiated.

“Ah Connor, what the fuck?” Hank groaned. “I was kidding about the jack and coke. I’ll just take a coke.” He lied.

“I apologize.” Connor said again. His brows were pinched together. “I- **ERROR –** apologize **– DOES NOT COMPUTE** – Do I know – **NO RESULTS FOUND –**” At that Connor appeared embarrassed. “Sorry – I appear to be malfunctioning – do I know you?”

What the fuck.

Actually.

“What the fuck?” Connor had to be fucking kidding- oh shit.

Hank had hoped Connor would appreciate his effort for this party but hadn’t even _thought_ he could milk it this far.

Connor had his head tilted 22° to the right – the fact Hank knew this meant he spent too much time around the damned android – and frowned. “I’m certain I’d know you if your face was in the Cyberlife database. However, I’m not receiving any data from any source – as my human coworkers like to say _this totally sucks_.”

Hank snorted. Okay so Connor had been alive for six years and sometimes he could totally roll with the times, but his random quoting of fellow officers just reminded Hank of back in 2038 and ’39 when Connor, the Emotionally-Stunted Android TM, tried to make small talk and usually turned into his own circus sideshow at the park. Clearly, he’d never grow out of it.

Hank smiled and shook his head. Kids.

Okay but, the pLaN – shut the fuck up, Hank is a Millenial, he’s allowed to quote memes in his goddamn head from the 2010’s. God the voices in his head sometimes. Uh. _The pLaN_ is to roll with it. “Yeah no I don’t fucking know you, not like _this_ apparently.” Hank gestured at his entire self. “What the fuck, my buddy invited me to an android-freedom party. Thanks for opening the door, I guess you’re Connor the host or whatever. Can I go inside now?”

Connor’s expression was pretty damn slack. It was beautiful. “Sorry, what’s your name?” He ignored Hank’s question. “I am extremely confused as to how you got this address – do you know a Hank Anderson? Are you his _brother_?” The android bounced on his toes, excitement entering his voice.

Pure mother-fucking gold.

Another android entered the entryway calling Connor’s name. They did a double-take and stared at Hank. Ah Robo-Jesus. So, it was a goddamn political party. Great, Hank fucking loved politicians.

Correction: Hank h a t e s politicians.

“Well Hank, you clean up nicely.” Robo-Jesus, being the omniscient android savior that he is, can apparently recognize Hank better than his own android son.

“Why thank you Ro-“ Hank coughed. “_Markus_. Connor here can’t seem to make up his mind what he thinks.”

“Connor.” Markus turned to chide the android in question, startled and took three long-ass -_ holy hell the robot is long glass of water_ – steps forward. Hank turned around – sadly he couldn’t creepily pivot in place like Connor the Android sent by Cyberlife TM could.

There appeared to be smoke coming out of Connor’s ears. Either his cigarette lighting feature was acting up –

_“It’s for my social integration into society, Hank. Humans are always requesting ‘a light’ from one another, me being able to provide it will increase their acceptance of me into their social circles.” _

_“Yeah, and I’m sure you breathing fire on their cigarette won’t frighten them in the slightest.”_

– Or he was experiencing a “_minor_” CPU crash –

_“I assure you Hank, this is normal protocol_.”

“_There’s smoke coming out of your ears!”_

_“Yes – perhaps my main-processing unit is a little overheated–”_

_“So basically your brain’s on fire!”_

–_ fuck, not again._

“Ah kid.” Hank muttered. “It’s just me. It’s Hank Anderson. I got a fucking haircut.”

Connor’s ears sparked.

Connor fell over.

Markus panicked and started cradling Connor’s head in his hands.

“Kid don’t worry about him.” Hank heaved a sigh. “He does this sometimes when his super-advanced brain can’t work fast enough.”

Markus frowned hard. “He’s the most-advanced android ever created.”

“Yeah and sometimes he gets overwhelmed. Last time this happened I tried to take him to a dog shelter and he couldn’t compute so many dogs in one room. Apparently, he actually experienced a Cuteness Overload TM. Give him ten minutes. He’ll be back.”

Markus settled on the floor, pulling Connor into his lap.

Ten minutes later, lo’ and behold, Connor squirmed awake. “Hank.” He said, voice laced with static and dead serious.

“Yeah?”

“You ditched the gutter rat vibe. I’m proud of you.”

“Fuck you too, Connor.”

Markus gaped.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sad. I've been working on this MONSTER of a DBH fic since I finished watching Jacksepticeye's DBH playthrough a year ago. And me being an absolute dumbass, apparently didn't back it up on multiple harddrives. So it's somewhere in my house (I sincerely hope) on an SD card wasting away into nothingness. I mean, it's nowhere near finished, but it's like 40k and needs more writing and I need to reread what I wrote to make sure I can continue correctly and AHH I better be able to find it again. \
> 
> Anyway, have this 10pm-I-should-be-doing-hw-and-yet-here-I-am crack attack.


End file.
